They Always Leave Traces
by SquirrelWho
Summary: There's a reason why Sherlock turned to drugs. The same reason he locked away his emotions. There's a room in his mind he never enters because a dark abyss lies beyond the door. One that he barely crawled out of, but when he meets a woman who reminds him of the one he lost, the other one, he's forced to deal with the memories and maybe by helping her he just might save himself.
1. Jane Doe

Not making any promises beyond at least once a week with this one. I have some chapters finished, but after those are out the...at least once a week clause kicks in.

The M rating is because...well, Rose hasn't had a rainbows and unicorns life in this one. This story is a bit darker than the others if you're not okay reading that then you might want to pass this up. :)

There is going to be series 3 mentions mostly leaning toward _the other one_, which you'll know about if you've watched all three episodes. This story attempts an explanation of who the other one was, why Sherlock might've turned to drugs and locked away his emotions. Hope you enjoy it. :)

* * *

Rose opened her eyes. The first thing she noticed was the room. White walls, closed curtains over the window. _No, no! _Her chest constricted as panic set in. She couldn't be back. She got out…or was that a dream?

She sat up and that's when she noticed, her hands were free. She wasn't cuffed to the bed. What's more her wrists were bandaged. She did get out, but what the hell was she doing there?

She took another look at the room, more slowly this time. A hospital, but one for the sick and injured. Not the type she'd been kept in for over a year. A door at the other end opened. Three people entered. Two men, older, both with grey hair. One a doctor. She could tell from his coat and that look he had about him. The other…police? Yes, he carried himself that way. The woman, dark hair and skin, also with the police. The doctor gave her a smile.

"Ah, good, you're awake. I'm Dr. Michaels and this is DI Lestrade and Sergeant Donovan. They're here to ask you a few questions if you feel up to it," the doctor explained.

She glanced at each of them in turn. Lestrade seemed nice, judging by his smile. Donovan was more straight laced, no nonsense type. More like the soldiers she'd dealt with. The woman took her job very seriously.

"Would you mind opening the curtains?" she asked, glancing at the doctor.

The last thing she remembered was the rift chamber, but she wasn't sure if she'd made it off Pete's World. She needed to know if she made it. If they made it, but she pushed that thought aside for now.

"Sure," Dr. Michaels replied, crossing the room and opening the curtains.

"Now…um, we'd like to start with your name," Lestrade began.

She gazed out the window, grinning in relief as she took in the skyline. No zeppelins. She wasn't sure exactly where she was, back in her universe or in another, but she wasn't on Pete's World and that's what mattered. She turned her attention back to the inspector.

"How did I get here?" she asked, ignoring the inspector's question.

She had to be careful. If she was back in her original universe she couldn't give her real name. Rose Tyler died in the battle at Canary Wharf. She'd need to find Jack. He worked with Torchwood. He could come up with a story or an alias.

If she was in another universe there might already be a Rose Tyler and even if there wasn't, if there's one thing she learned, the wrong word in the wrong place could have catastrophic consequences.

"Um…" Lestrade said, taken back by her question. He opened the small notepad he was holding and leafed through a few pages. "You were found last night by Officer Morrison during his rounds. He called an ambulance because you were unconscious and…your injuries."

"Was I alone?"

Lestrade gave her a quizzical look before returning to his notes.

"Yes, there's no mention of anyone else. Why?"

"How soon can I leave?" she asked.

"Leave?" he inquired, as if he wasn't sure what she was talking about.

"Be discharged."

"Oh…um…"

Lestrade glanced at Dr. Michaels. She followed his gaze.

"You were suffering from exhaustion and exposure, not to mention your injuries," she glanced down at her wrists that were wrapped in gauze. "I'd like to keep you for seventy-two hours…for observation."

She knew what that meant. A seventy-two hour hold. Not a psych hold this time, at least she didn't think so. Her wounds were from the handcuffs that held her to the other bed, back on Pete's World. Her eyes fell on the IV in her arm, but she pushed the panic aside. They weren't sedatives, just an IV to build her strength.

"You're going to need to give us your name," Donovan insisted.

"I'm sorry, but I can't."

"Can't?" the woman asked.

"Look," Lestrade said, catching her gaze. "If you're worried that someone might come after you we can protect you."

He seemed genuinely concerned and she felt bad, but he couldn't help her. She had to get out of there and find Tony. Her brother wouldn't trust anyone else. He was clever, more than clever, had always been that way.

"I know you want to help, but you can't," she replied, turning her gaze to the window.

Lestrade watched her for a moment. She wasn't going to give him anything because she didn't think they could help her. Someone held her captive. According to the medical report she had wounds on both her wrists from being restrained. There was also scarring and according to Dr. Michaels it suggested that she'd been restrained over a period of months. There had also been sedatives in her system, as if she'd been sedated less than a day before. Someone had been holding her and somehow she got away, but she didn't want to file a report. He needed to find the bastard who did this to her and if she wasn't going to cooperate there was only one thing he could.

He crossed the room and stepped into the hall, pulling his phone out.

"You're not going to let this go are you?" Donovan demanded after the door closed.

"Of course not. Even if she's the only victim I want to catch the bastard who did that to her," he replied, dialing _his _number.

"Wait. You're not calling _him _are you?"

"You have a better idea?"

"Yeah, we go back in there."

"And what? Make her tell us? She's been through hell. She's holding herself together, but I could see it in her eyes."

"And subjecting her to _him _is any better?"

* * *

Sherlock sighed, staring out at the pleasantly warm early summer day. People mulled around the streets, smiling, couples holding hands. It was dreadful. He'd been without a case for two days…two agonizing days.

"Anything?" he asked.

John searched his blog for the third time since he showed up. There were two cases, but neither of them were remotely interesting…at least not to Sherlock. It was his day off and he'd come over to check on his friend, but at the moment he was wondering exactly why he'd done that.

"Just the two," John replied.

Another sigh. John ran his hand over his forehead, knowing what that sigh meant. At that moment Sherlock's phone rang. The detective picked it up from the desk.

"Yes?" Sherlock inquired.

John watched his friend's face relax as he smiled. _That _smile. The one that told the doctor whoever was on the other end of the line just offered Sherlock a case and one he wasn't going to pass up.

"Of course."

Another pause.

"We're on our way."

Sherlock hung up and pocketed his phone.

"Who was that?" John asked.

"Lestrade, with a case," the detective replied walking toward his room, most likely to get dressed since he'd spent the day in his sleep ware.

"Is it a murder?" John asked, standing up and grabbing his coat.

"No. There's a woman at the hospital who appears to have been held captive, but she's being uncooperative."

"Wait. How do they know she was held somewhere?"

"There are deep abrasions to her wrists from being held for a period of time. A few months according to the medical reports," Sherlock replied, stepping out of his room fully dressed and grabbing both his coat and scarf.

"Jesus. Where did they find her?"

"Banking district last night, unconscious."

John opened the door and followed Sherlock out.

"So she must have gotten away."

"It would appear so," the detective said opening the front door.

If she'd been held captive for months it made sense to John that she'd be terrified. She was probably afraid that whoever took her would find her again. He wasn't sure why Lestrade thought they would get more out of her and he really didn't like the idea of upsetting someone who'd been through that.

He climbed into the cab and waited for Sherlock to give the cabbie directions. Then he turned to his friend.

"Maybe you should let me talk to her," he said.

"Why?" Sherlock inquired.

"Well…it's just…she's been through a lot and you…you know."

Sherlock's brows drew together.

"I what?"

"You don't exactly have a good beside manner," John tried.

The detective rolled his eyes.

"I'm a consulting detective John, not a doctor."

"Exactly."

"I can be sensitive," Sherlock replied, defensively.

John raised his brow.

"Really?"

"Yes. I generally choose not to, but you can try to get her to open up, unless she continues to be uncooperative."

John knew that was as good as he was going to get from Sherlock. He sat back for the rest of the cab ride.

* * *

Standard Disclaimer.

Thank you to all my brilliant readers!

**Reviews are always welcome. :)**


	2. Enter Sherlock Holmes and Doctor Watson

Because first chapters get lonely. :)

* * *

Rose glanced at the clock. Eleven seventeen. From her view through the window it appeared to be late spring, early summer, which meant it probably wouldn't get dark until seven, maybe eight. She'd make her escape then.

Dr. Michaels had her things brought up. Her clothes and her trainers. A nurse put them in one of the cupboards on the other side of the room. Tony had the sonic, which was good. He knew how to use it and knowing he had it and that he'd actually been dressed for the weather made her feel better, not that she could actually feel good about him being out there on his own, but it was something at least.

She forced herself to lie in the bed, even though every fiber of her being wanted to get the hell out of there and find him, but getting caught wouldn't do her any good. She was being held, seventy-two hours and if she fought it they'd either restrain her or give her sedatives, most likely sedatives and she couldn't have that.

The door opened and two men entered the room. A short sandy haired bloke followed by a taller man with dark wavy hair. The taller bloke had a serious look on his face, like something she might attribute to a mortician, which almost made her laugh. The sandy haired bloke seemed much more friendly. He gave her a smile that she returned as he crossed the room. She took in his walking gait and the way he held himself. Soldier, but also something else. His eyes traveled over her IV, the bandages on her wrists, and then to the medical chart at the end of her bed. Doctor. He was both a soldier and a doctor.

"Hello," the sandy haired bloke said. "I'm John."

"I thought I already had a doctor…or are you some kind of specialist?" she asked.

She noted the way both men's eyes widened. The dark haired man had been hanging back by the door, but at her question he took a few steps toward her.

"Um…your right. I…I am a doctor," John said, glancing back at the other bloke.

She grinned.

"I can always spot a doctor."

"How did you know?" the dark haired bloke asked.

"The first things he looked at when he walked in the room were the IV bag, the bandages on my wrists, and the medical chart. Visitors notice the person. Police would notice the bandages and the person," she explained, which for some reason made the dark haired bloke grin.

"I'm Sherlock Holmes and this is Doctor John Watson," he introduced. "And you are?"

"Sherlock Holmes and John Watson?" she asked, quirking her brow, not entirely sure if they were having fun with her or not.

The bloke seemed serious and the other didn't appear to be joking, but still.

"Yes," John said.

"Don't mind if I ask for your IDs, do you?"

Sherlock, if that really was his name…wouldn't that be something? drew his brows together as if he couldn't believe she didn't believe him, but he reached into his pocket and pulled out a wallet. John did the same. They handed over their IDs. She glanced at them. They were either excellent forgeries or they really were Sherlock Holmes and Doctor John Watson. She grinned, even though she knew that meant she was nowhere near her original universe. She couldn't help the excitement she felt.

"That's brilliant," she exclaimed.

She handed their IDs back.

"You were going to give us your name?" Sherlock asked.

He was persistent. She had to give him that and she knew she'd have to give him something. If he was anything like the stories he wouldn't let this go, but she had to be careful. The wrong word in the wrong place…

"Rose," she replied.

"Rose what?"

She turned her attention to John.

"You're a doctor, yeah?"

"Yes," he replied.

"Does that mean you can get me out of here?"

"Um…" John glanced at Sherlock.

"Look," she said, gazing at the detective. "Get me out of this seventy-two hour hold, throw in some chips and I'll tell you what I can."

"What you can?" Sherlock asked.

"Take it or leave it."

The detective walked to the door and opened it then glanced at the doctor.

"John?" he asked.

"Yeah, um…" the doctor looked at her for a moment. "Be right back."

"I'll be here," she replied as he crossed the room and stepped out followed by Sherlock.

After the door closed Rose pulled the IV out of her arm, grabbed a napkin and applied pressure as she crossed the room to the cupboard containing her clothes. She hurriedly dressed and was tying her trainers when they stepped back into the room.

She glanced from one surprised face to the other, grinning as she stood up.

"Ready?" she asked.

"How did you-" Sherlock began.

"Know you were going to call Lestrade while John filled out the transfer papers?" She shrugged. "Lucky guess."

Sherlock grinned. She was clever and even though she'd been through what John described as hell she hadn't given into her emotions as other people would. He gazed over her clothing. Pink tank top, jeans, trainers and she held a light jacket in her left hand. They appeared to be in good condition, which made him wonder. Had she acquired them after her escape? She must have. If she'd been held for months her clothes would've held the evidence.

"You should've let me remove the IV," the doctor said, taking her arm and taping a cotton ball over the mark the needle left.

"It's just a little puncture mark," she replied as if it was nothing, but she allowed him to take care of the wound.

Sherlock noted the scars on her arms. Some appeared to be from sharp objects, knifes or scalpels perhaps and others were burns. Did she receive those while she was being held? That was a question he had yet to answer.

She slipped her coat on once John released her arm. She felt bad for tricking them into letting her out with what she was planning, but too many people were already dead because of her and she couldn't let that continue, especially them. If they existed in that universe then their deaths could have dire consequences.

Sherlock opened the door and John stepped out. She followed, but paused next to the detective, resting her arm on his as she caught his gaze. His eyes were startling. Blue like her first Doctor, but with a starburst of yellow that reminded her of the sun. There was something else in them akin to the man who wore a leather jacket and saved her in the basement of Henrik's Department store.

"Thank you," she said, knowing it was his decision to let her out and feeling like she had to say something.

Sherlock barely registered her words. The moment their eyes connected he felt as if he couldn't breathe. He hadn't been that close to her since he entered the room and from the distance he observed her he believed her eyes were brown, but on closer inspection he realized they were deep hazel, muddy brown, but intermingled with blue and green. His chest constricted. They were the same color, _exactly _the same color as _her _eyes.

Rose noticed the change. His pale skin became even paler as his eyes widened. He had the look of someone who'd seen a ghost. Concern flooded her body.

"Are you all right?" she asked, leaning toward him.

He swallowed and blinked, forcing the memories and the feelings that accompanied them back into the room that was supposed to be sealed, had been for years. He knew where that road led. A swirling abyss of darkness. One that he barely crawled out of after _she_…

"Y-yes." He took a breath, pulling away from Rose. "Fine."

"Coming?" John asked, having not witnessed the scene.

"Yeah," Rose said, noting that Sherlock obviously didn't want to talk about whatever just happened. She gave him a final glance before stepping into the hall and following John to the lift.

Both Lestrade and Donovan met them in the lobby. While Lestrade led Sherlock a few paces away to talk to him the woman pulled Rose aside.

"I know you're worried about talking to us, but here's my card," Donovan said, pulling out a card with her name, police rank, and phone number, both office and mobile. "If he gets weird or gives you any problems call me."

"Um…okay," Rose said, not entirely sure what the woman was talking about. "Doesn't he work with the Yard?"

"He consults, mostly with Greg, but he's always been a bit…off."

She raised her brow.

"Off?"

"You know…not all there. I mean, who makes up a job so they can have free range of the most gruesome crime scenes? He gets off on it. They might've found him innocent after he faked his death, but I still don't trust him."

Greg, who must be Lestrade, called Sherlock in on crimes, the bad ones because he knew the detective could find the murderer and catch them. Donovan…Rose glanced at the card…Sally was obviously jealous. If there's one thing she couldn't stand it was someone who felt better about themselves by making other people feel bad.

She grinned, offering her hand.

"Thank you, I really appreciate the heads up and I will definitely call you if he gets _weird_." Sally smiled, obviously under the impression that she'd brought Rose over to her side of thinking. She shook the girl's hand.

"Just be careful."

Greg cleared his throat.

"Oh, yeah," Rose replied, toying with her ear. "I will."

Sally gave her another smile before walking toward the lifts with Lestrade.

"What was that about?" John asked, glancing at the card Rose dropped in the bin on the way out.

"Jealousy," she dismissed, glancing at Sherlock with a smile and noting the smile he returned. John still seemed confused, but as soon as they stepped onto the street she looped her arm through his and grinned. "Chips then, yeah?"

* * *

Standard Disclaimer.

Thank you to all my brilliant readers!

**Reviews are always welcome. :)**


	3. The Dark Abyss

Thought I'd put up another one since it's going to be a few hours until I get a chap done for one of the other stories, stuffs to do first.

Beware of the feels in this one...seriously there are feels. :)

* * *

Rose slid into the seat next to John with her basket of chips. Sherlock was sitting across from her and from the look on his face he was about to shoot a line of questions at her, but she had her own questions that needed to be answered first, especially since she wasn't planning on sticking around long enough to answer all of his.

"So, there's a queen, yeah?" she asked.

Sherlock gave her a quizzical look.

"I'm sorry?" John asked, as if he had no idea what she meant.

"Of Great Britain. There's a queen, yeah?"

"Um…yes."

At least that was back to normal.

"Ever heard of Torchwood?"

"No," John replied, then glanced at the detective. "Sherlock?"

"No," the detective said.

Sherlock knew what she was doing. Stalling. She told them she would answer what she could, but there was something else going on. She was planning something.

"The doctors believe you were held somewhere against your will. Is that true?" he asked, knowing it was, but trying to shake her train of thought.

Her eyes shot to his and he had to push aside that feeling of familiarity that nearly overwhelmed him again. It wouldn't do to get sentimental.

"Sherlock," John hissed, but he ignored his friend.

Her face became serious as the light in her eyes dimmed a bit and for a moment he felt the briefest touch of regret, but he shoved it aside.

"Yeah," she replied.

"The doctor believed you were held over a period of months, but judging by your hair, brown with the last vestiges of blond dye at the tips I'd say you were held a little over a year." He nodded at the bandage on her left wrist, which was visible because the sleeve of her jacket had ridden up slightly. "The restraints were used later after one or more attempts to escape."

She pulled the sleeve down to conceal the bandage. She didn't like thinking about that because it brought back memories and emotions that were best locked away until she found Tony.

"Bang on," she said, giving him a grin that didn't quite reach her eyes.

"According to the medical reports you were given both a sedative and a stimulant less than twenty four hours before you were found, which means if you did escape you had help."

This brought out an actual grin.

"You're good." He returned her grin. "Yeah, you're right. I had help."

"Who?"

"A friend. Jake. He found me, I guess he'd been looking for a while."

"Hang on," John interrupted. "If your friend knew you were being held by someone why didn't he go to the police?"

"Yeah," she laughed thinking about how Richard had the entire Yard in his pocket. "Because that would've…" She realized who she was talking to and that they wouldn't have any idea about Richard and the control he had back on Pete's World. She glanced from John's puzzled face to Sherlock's intense curiosity. He was far too much like the Doctor, the way he could read people. That was bad. "I…I don't know. He never said." She gave Sherlock a quick glance and knew he wasn't buying her story. "The point is he got me out."

"Jake," the detective asked slowly.

"Yeah."

She popped a chip in her mouth.

"He's the one who gave you the stimulant."

"To wake me up, yeah."

"If this friend of yours got you out then why did he leave you?" John asked.

Her face became serious again and her eyes dimmed more than the last time as she became very interested in her chips. Again, Sherlock felt some sentiment creeping out of that room, but he shoved it back inside.

"He…didn't make it."

"I'm sorry," John said, resting his hand on hers.

She gave him a sad smile and for the first time since they met Sherlock noted there were tears in the corner of her eyes, but she was holding them back. Another bit of sentiment crept out. He threw it back into the room. _What the hell is wrong with me? _But he knew. It wasn't just her eyes. There were subtle similarities, ones he probably wouldn't have noticed if their eyes weren't _exactly _the same color. Rose wasn't _her_, didn't look anything like _her_.

"Me too," she replied, putting her other hand over John's and giving his a squeeze. She took in a steadying breath. "I've got to use the Ladies. I'll be right back, yeah?"

"Sure," the doctor said, pulling his hand back as she stood up. As she crossed the room John shook his head. "I can't believe she's gone through all that and she's not a complete mess."

"She's strong," Sherlock commented, drawing a raised brow from his friend.

"Was that a compliment?"

"An observation."

John smirked.

"I saw the way you were looking at her."

Sherlock drew his brows together.

"And what way would that be?"

"As if you were concerned for her."

He rolled his eyes.

"You know me better than that, John."

"I do know you."

Sherlock sighed and stood up.

"Where are you going?" his friend asked.

"I'm going to step outside a moment."

John shrugged.

"Suit yourself."

Sherlock stepped out the door and walked a few paces, trying to get control of himself. He wasn't upset with John. It was that room with those…emotions that kept escaping. He couldn't have that, especially when he was trying to read someone. A sound from the alley drew his attention. He glanced in that direction in time to see a leg poke out the widow and that's when he realized why she excused herself.

Rose lowered herself into the alley. She felt bad for running out, but she couldn't chance anything happening to them. She was going to wait a bit before disappearing, but she forgot herself, almost let too much slip and that wouldn't do. She wasn't sure exactly why it mattered, but she didn't want them to think she was as crazy as everyone on Pete's World thought she was.

She turned around and found Sherlock standing behind her. _Bollocks! _

"Going somewhere?" he asked in that _I know exactly what you're doing _sort of way.

He waited for the lie or the joke. It was usually one or the other. What he didn't expect was what she said.

"Actually, yeah," she replied, crossing her arms.

His brows drew together at her admission as he tried to work out why she would tell him.

"Where?"

"I'm not sure."

"Running then."

"No, there's something I have to do."

Something she had to do? Was she planning on going after her kidnapper on her own? No, that didn't seem to fit. She didn't seem vengeful. There was something else.

"What's that?"

"I…" she couldn't tell him, not _exactly _what she needed to do because that would complicate things. Make it harder for her to find Tony. "I have to find someone."

She was being honest. Evasive, but honest.

"Who?"

"I can't tell you that."

"Why?"

"Because if I tell you then you'll call Lestrade, then the police will be looking and he'll run. I'm the only one he trusts and if he runs I might never find him."

She wasn't talking about her friend because he died. Who else was there? There was too much he didn't know about her to make an accurate deduction. Someone who was hiding, someone important, but who?

"If you run I'll have to phone Lestrade. He handed your custody over to me, making me responsible for you."

In the next moment she stepped into his space, drawing very close to him and taking his hand. He glanced at their hands, realizing he'd left his gloves in the fish and chip shop on the table.

"Please," she said, catching his gaze and the sentiment escaped that room again. Not one emotion, but all of them and it nearly overwhelmed him. "Just let me find him."

The concern in her eyes tugged at the memories behind that door.

"I…could help you," he offered, wanting to help her in that moment more than he'd wanted anything his entire life, well, nearly anything.

"I can't let you."

"I won't phone Lestrade. I…" _promise, _he almost said and then stopped himself wondering why he would make such a promise, but he knew.

"I won't let anyone else get hurt because of me and you, Sherlock Holmes, you're too important."

The door to that room flew open at Rose's words. So close to the last words _she _spoke. The alley, Rose, everything vanished and he was back in that room, sitting on the simple metal frame bed next to _her_. She wore a white sleeping gown. He'd broke in to get her out after trying to talk Mycroft into having her released, but his brother claimed she suffered a psychotic break and Bethlem was the best place for her, but he couldn't believe that.

She was strong. She'd always been stronger than both of them.

"You have to come with me, Ally," he pleaded.

She smiled sadly, taking his hand and gazing into his eyes.

"My big brother. Always the savior," she replied. "But it's too late."

He didn't care for the way she said that. Didn't care for the resignation in her voice or the implications that it was somehow too late and she couldn't be saved. They were both there. All she had to do was come with him.

"I can hide you. You don't have to worry about Mycroft," he tried.

"It's not Mike. He put me here because he was worried. I'd like to think he didn't know how much I cared for Ben, but you know how he is. Queen and Country."

He tried to work out what she meant. Ben was her fiancé, but Mycroft didn't say anything about him.

"What did Mycroft do?"

"It doesn't matter," she dismissed. "You need to go before they find you."

"I'm not leaving you."

She cupped his cheek in her free hand, brushing away the tears that escaped his eyes as her own tears shone in the corners of hers, but she was holding them back. Being strong for him.

"You have to," she insisted, giving him another sad smile. "You're Sherlock Holmes and you're too important to get caught up in this."

"In what? Tell me!"

Instead of answering she kissed his cheek and then released his hand.

"Orderly!" she yelled.

"Ally, please, don't do this."

"Orderly! There's a man in my room!"

He hurried out of her room, but not before swearing he would be back. That he would somehow get her out of there.

"Sherlock," John called, his friend's voice drawing him out of the memory and back to the present.

He brushed the tears away quickly before John could see them and that's when he realized one of his hands was cuffed to the fire escape. He glanced around the alley. Rose was gone.

"Where is she?" his friend asked.

"She's…" Sherlock cleared his throat because his voice had come out gravelly with sentiment. "She's gone."

"What happened?"

He chose not to answer as he pulled out his lock-pick set and opened the cuffs.

"Hang on. Did she do that?" John continued.

"Obviously," he snapped, irritably.

"How?"

He chose not answer again as he reached into his pocket to retrieve his phone. He could put his homeless network on locating her, but his hand came back empty. He searched his other pocket. It was gone. She must have taken it.

He grinned. Well now, that was a turn. Finding her just became much easier.

"John, you're phone," he said, holding out his hand.

"Where's yours?" his friend asked, handing the mobile over.

"Rose lifted it."

"So, wait. She not only handcuffed you to the fire escape she stole your phone as well?"

"It would appear so."

"Without you noticing?"

He glanced at John and noted the smirk on his friend's face.

"Shut up."

* * *

Standard Disclaimer.

Thank you to all my brilliant readers!

**Reviews are always welcome. :)**


	4. Tony

Still working on chaps for the other stories and since I've had some pms about Tony I thought I'd put the next one up, which is a Tony chapter. :)

* * *

Tony opened his eyes and glanced around cautiously. He was lying in a dark street. London. From the look of the buildings he must be in the Banking District, but the streets seemed off. _Parallel world_, he reminded himself. That's where Rose said they were going.

Instinctively, he glanced up. The dark sky stared back. No zeppelins. Instead he could see the stars. So many stars. He grinned. They made it, but where was Rose? The sound of sirens drew his attention. His chest tightened as fear raced up his spine.

He knew they made it out, but still he couldn't help the fear. That somehow they'd been tricked. That Richard was trying to find them. He made his way to the end of the block and carefully glanced around the corner. There was an ambulance and he could make out two paramedics and an officer huddled around someone. A gurney was brought over and the person lying on the ground was moved to the gurney. That's when he saw who it was. Rose. His sister.

Part of him, the eight year old child part, wanted to run to her, find out what happened, cry at the men to save her, but the other part. The bit that had never really thought like a kid, at least not like other kids, told him to stay put. Stay hidden. He had the sonic and he could use it to find out. Breaking into a business to access their computers would be easy. Then it would be a simple hacking job to locate the right hospital and get into their records. He pushed the fear aside, something he learned to do over the past two years. It was harder when he was younger, but it came easily now, well, except when he was with her because she let him be a kid. Right now he wasn't a kid. He was on his own, again.

He slunk back down the street, keeping to the shadows. He wouldn't know anything for a few hours and he was tired, exhausted actually, but he couldn't give into it yet. He had to find somewhere safe and warm. He pulled the coat closed. Rose's coat. The one with the fur around the hood. She made him take it before they jumped and he was glad. If not for that he might be loaded into an ambulance himself and he'd had his fill of children's homes.

* * *

Tony opened his eyes. Early morning light poured in through the blinds on the windows. He glanced around a moment, feeling disoriented as his mind recalled where he was. Rose's flat, well, it was her flat back in the other universe. Here it was just a vacant flat waiting to be rented, which was why he stayed. He used the sonic to get the heating working then he found his way back to what would have been her bedroom and fell asleep on the floor.

Part of him knew that the living room would've done just as well and that sleeping in her room was a childish way to feel close to her, even though it didn't really make him any closer to her, but he told that bit to sod off. Something he knew Rose wouldn't be happy about. She was the only one who really knew him. The only one who didn't treat him like a freak, although, she said John treated him the same way, but he couldn't remember her friend. The human Doctor as she called him when she explained who he'd been before he disappeared. Blinking out of existence as if he never was.

Mum and dad didn't believe her. They tried, same way they tried to understand him, but even with Torchwood they thought a certain way and there were limits to what they could believe without seeing. He and Rose were different. She wasn't exactly like him, didn't think like him, but she saw things, got feelings about things and that's what made her believe. And he believed because she did.

He pushed those thoughts aside as he stood up. First he needed to find out about his sister, make sure she was all right. Then he needed to eat. After that he could find somewhere safe to wait for her because if there's one constant in any universe it was that she would always come for him. She promised and Rose never broke a promise.

He knew she might stop there when she started looking for him. He dug around in her pockets and his hand closed around something that made him smile. He pulled it out. A crayon, but not just any crayon. The one Rose called TARDIS blue. He remembered the day she pocketed the crayon. They'd been working on an experiment, something to do with wax and acid. The details were fuzzy, but he'd only been six at the time.

They were melting all the crayons in the new box mum bought, even though they knew she'd have a fit, but that thought just made them laugh. Rose picked up the TARDIS blue crayon and said they couldn't use that one. When he asked why she said it was a lucky crayon and it would do them much more good to hang onto it. He told her she was being silly, which, of course, make her laugh and her laugh always made him laugh. Then she announced that silly was good and she told him the story of a Chrysalis that almost captured the entire world using crayons.

As he held the crayon he realized that she was right. TARDIS blue crayons were good luck because now he could leave her a note and let her know where he was going next.

* * *

Tony's small fingers flew across the keyboard of the library's computer. It was easy enough to sidestep the safeguards before he began his search. The first two hospitals were a bust, but he found her at the third. She wasn't listed under Rose Tyler, but she'd been unconscious so he expected that was a possibility. Jane Doe. Right age range, nationality, and hair color. Her natural hair color, which he found strange because to him Rose had always been blonde.

He pushed those thoughts aside as he read through her medical chart. Exposure. Exhaustion. But they expected her to make a full recovery. He grinned. She was going to be all right. There was a seventy-two hour hold. Three days, but he knew she'd get out of it, which meant she would probably be looking for him tonight.

He removed all traces of his search…just in case. Nearly two years on his own in various children's homes had made him cautious. Then he headed for the door. His stomach grumbled reminding him that he hadn't eaten since lunch yesterday. Money first, something he could get with the sonic, then food, then he could spend part of the day at the museum, the one Rose used to take him to, pointing out distant galaxies and telling him about the planets and people who lived there. His favorite had always been her story of Barcelona and how the Doctor had finally taken her there, but warned her that there's one thing she should never ever do, then he'd done it and they had to run for the TARDIS covered in mud and feathers. The memory made him smile and it helped stem the grief that was always there, had been there for nearly two years, ever since they lost their parents, but he'd lost more than that. He lost her too.

He stuffed his hands into his pockets as he started down the road. There was a little shop around the corner, he passed it on the way to the library, noticing the cash machine outside. After he used the sonic to pull some money out he could pick up some fish and chips from one of the vendors. It would be warmer to sit inside and eat, but he had to be careful. He might not think like other kids, but he looked like them and an eight year old on his own in a restaurant would be noticed. All he had to do was make it till tonight. Then he wouldn't be alone anymore.

* * *

Standard Disclaimer.

Thank you to all my brilliant readers!

**Reviews are always welcome. :)**


	5. Found Her

Rose raced down the alley, around the corner, down that street, and around the next corner before she stopped. She planned on cuffing Sherlock to the fire escape that he was standing next to, using the handcuffs she lifted from Sally, which she'd done, but right before that he got _that _look. The same one the Doctor got when he was remembering the dark parts of his past.

She almost stayed; worrying over what could be going through his mind, but John was in the fish and chip shop. She knew it was only a matter of time before the doctor came looking for him and she had to find Tony. Make sure he was all right.

She pulled out Sherlock's phone and did a quick search for a street map of this London. Tony was clever, more than clever, he'd give John a run for his money and that was saying something, but he was also her eight year old brother. She needed to find him. The night she was taken away, same night she pulled him out of that fire she made him a promise. That she would always find him and she never broke a promise.

She knew he'd go somewhere they both knew. Somewhere she could find him. Three places came to mind. The mansion, but she put that to last because of what happened that night. He wasn't like other kids. Genius. Seemed she couldn't get away from them, not that she minded, but sometimes she had to remind him that he was a kid. Still, the memories alone might keep him away.

According to the map the mansion didn't exist, but there was another building with the same address. Three stories, at least thirty flats, underground parking. She put that at the bottom of the list and searched for the museum. The one she used to take him to before Richard destroyed their lives.

The museum existed, but it was in another location. _Damn! _Four possible locations then. There was a restaurant where the museum should be. She searched for her flat last. It was there, not, of course, hers, but that would be her first stop. She wasn't sure where she would go if she couldn't find him at any of them, but she pushed that thought aside. No reason to worry until she knew.

She hailed a cab and gave the driver the address. Then she sat back and worked out a plan. Tony had the sonic so she needed a ploy to get in. Good thing she lifted more than handcuffs off Sergeant Donovan.

* * *

"Aren't you going to phone Lestrade?" John asked.

"No," Sherlock replied as he used his friend's phone to track his. "She has to stop eventually and then…"

"What if the man who took her spots her?"

That question gave the detective pause. She didn't seem concerned about that. Why wasn't she concerned? Whoever took her held her for over a year, during which she attempted to escape more than once. Her friend died rescuing her, but she wasn't afraid of being spotted, of being captured again. It was almost as if that wasn't possible.

"She has my phone. We'll find her," he replied.

"If you phoned Greg there would be more people looking and they could track her too."

"We're not calling Lestrade," he insisted.

John paused, eyeing Sherlock. There was something in his friend's voice, something that was very rarely evident. Not fear or panic, but concern. It wasn't as if Sherlock was unable to show concern or any other emotion for that matter. His friend had, on occasion, shown actual emotions, Sherlock did a good job faking them as well, but he knew that wasn't the case this time.

"You're worried about her," John said.

Sherlock shot him a sideways glance before returning his attention to the phone. He chose not to answer, knowing John would see through whatever lie he supplied. He had to find her for two reasons. One was concern, though he wouldn't voice that. The other was because he was afraid of what might happen if he didn't, what he might do because from the moment that door opened and the memories of _her _began to resurface he felt the pull toward that swirling abyss of darkness that claimed him after he lost _her_.

He wasn't sure if he was looking for some form of redemption because Rose reminded him of _her _or if there was another reason, one he couldn't see because he'd shoved those emotions back into that room without sorting through them. All of them, that is, except concern, which insisted on staying.

* * *

The cab stopped next to the building she recognized, even if it was white in this universe, everything else seemed pretty much the same. She pulled Sally's wallet out and handed over a twenty pound note. She could replace the money after she found Tony and drop the wallet at the Yard, but for right now she needed it more than Sally did.

When she walked up to the door she noticed the for rent sign in the window, which made her switch gears. She'd rather avoid drawing attention to herself and a woman looking to rent a flat was less suspicious than a police sergeant wanting to inspect a flat, but that would only work if the flat for rent happened to be her old flat.

Rose stepped into the lobby, which was nearly empty. She glanced around. Security desk, three o'clock. Two men sat behind the desk. One mid-twenties the other early thirties. She adjusted her tank top, put on her best Captain Jack smile, and crossed the room.

* * *

"Found her," Sherlock announced, rushing toward the street, leaving John to catch up.

He hailed a cab, jumped inside, and was followed a moment later by the doctor who closed the door as he gave the cabbie the address. He glanced at the red dot that was Rose and grinned. He knew the area. She was in a building that housed a set of flats. Middle class area. He wasn't sure why she was there, but he was certain of one thing, in a few short minutes she would be getting a surprise and this time he wasn't going to let her get away.

"So, um, what's the plan?" John asked, drawing him out of his thoughts.

He glanced at his friend.

"Plan?" he asked.

"You found her so now what? We catch her then call Lestrade?"

Not that John wanted to put her back in police custody, but they were responsible for her and it was going to be hard keeping her safe if she insisted on running off. He was worried about her and the fact that Sherlock seemed concerned only worried him further.

"Why would I do that?" the detective asked.

"We're supposed to find out who kidnapped her if you remember. Something we can't do if she's going to run off," John replied.

"She's looking for someone."

Hang on. What?

"Wait. How do you know that?"

"She told me."

"Sorry…what? She…told you?"

Sherlock turned his attention back to the phone, as if the conversation wasn't worth his time, making John want to yank the phone out of his friend's hand.

"Yes," the detective dismissed.

"So, you, what? Had a conversation about her looking for someone before she handcuffed you?"

A glance and a glare before Sherlock turned back to the phone.

"I caught her climbing out the window. She said she needed to find someone."

"Who?"

"I don't know, but she was very adamant."

John sighed, sitting back. He hoped Sherlock knew what he was doing, but he supposed in a few minutes he'd find out exactly what his friend thought he was doing.

* * *

Standard Disclaimer.

Thank you to all my brilliant readers!

**Reviews are always welcome. :)**


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